


Still

by KomaedaClear



Category: Topp Dogg (Band)
Genre: Angst, Depression, Fluff, Happy Ending, M/M, a n g s t, male reader - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-17
Updated: 2016-10-17
Packaged: 2018-08-22 22:43:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8304007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KomaedaClear/pseuds/KomaedaClear
Summary: Hansol takes care of you during your depression.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Scenario: Hansol takes care of depressed boyfriend.  
> perfect time to write this bc ohh bOI it’s coming back and i love hansol. Confession: i have 2 fanfics ive vented through: one was just a char being.. My feelings, and another.. Is shameful lmao have fun finding it. Im writing this from hansol’s perspective but like. Third pov. Rip me up sotty
> 
>  
> 
> btw i looked up cute pet names for your boyfriend and settled on muffin but i could have called you, the reader: burning rice eater. tator tot. twiggy.  
> congrats

Nothing was really special about today. It was a regular sunny day, kind of pretty, only there for someone to look at. It was a Saturday, so that meant sleeping in for both you and your boyfriend, Hansol.

Light filtered through the curtain, and Hansol shifted in his spot on the bed, throwing an arm over to your side, only to find your spot empty. He lifted his head up, blinking through the hazy morning light in confusion. He rubbed on the blanket, expecting you to have crawled under, or maybe he just missed you completely, but no, the bed was empty. He sat up, looking around in a daze.

He was about to call out your name when he heard shuffling outside the room. In such a tiny apartment, it was probably from the kitchen.

He lifted himself out of bed, wearing thick pajamas you bought him last Christmas. The pants were long, though, so he had to roll up the legs before making his way to the kitchen. Sure enough, you were sitting there in matching pjs, same size but fit you perfectly.

Hansol smiled at you tiredly, but you looked to be in deep thought, staring out the window, leaning against the counter, sitting on the stool. Even though you were turned toward him, you didn’t notice he was there until he put his hand on your shoulder.

“Hey, handsome,” he cooed, moving to rub your back softly. “Didn’t expect you to be up so early.”

You were startled by his sudden touch, but had quickly composed yourself, smiling sheepishly up at him. Your eyes seemed kind of droopy, and your smile faded quickly, but not noticeably. The only reason Hansol did notice was because you never did that. Only on the rare occasion, but he didn’t like to dwell on it too much.

“Soo, what _are_ you doing up so early?” he asked, getting two coffee cups out of the cupboard to the left of the one over your head.

You shrugged, and let out a hefty sigh. Hansol furrowed his eyebrows at you. Sort of odd behaviour, but he wasn’t one to judge. He patted your back as he walked past, eyeing the small fuzz on your chin. You seemed to not have shaved in a few days, he noticed as he put on the coffee maker.

From behind you, he could see how the pajama top rested on you, as though you were hunched over(which you were) and walked forward, giving you a big hug from behind. Your arms were folded over your chest loosely, and he pulled them apart, linking his fingers with your own.

“So, for today, do you still want to watch movies like we planned? I rented two: The Crazies and Psycho. Yeah, it isn’t Halloween, but you like scary movies, right? Plus, it would give us a chance to cuddle~!” His voice went small and cute at the end, which usually, when he said things like that in that cute way, caused you to elbow him or push him away, and you would be laughing awkwardly. However, you didn’t do that. This time, when you sighed, it shook your whole body, and Hansol was seriously puzzled.

“Something wrong, ____?” He asked, just as the coffee machine beeped. He let go of you after a few seconds, staring back, wanting to see you face him and say something witty. But you did none of that. You took to shrugging, shifting your weight slightly on the stool.

When Hansol backed away, he couldn’t fail to hear the distinct growl of your stomach. Smiling mischievously, he grabbed an apple, aiming to throw it at you underhanded. “Catch, ____!” he said to you before letting go.

You looked up and didn’t even make an effort to catch it, letting it hit your shoulder and landing on the ground with a thud. “Sorry,” you muttered, picking it off the floor. Half of it was smushed now, but you put it on the counter anyways, turning on the stool towards Hansol.

“Coffee, babe?” you asked absentmindedly. He stared at you through squinted eyes, trying to decipher what was going on, before grabbing the mugs and pouring the hot liquid in them, never taking an eye off you.

“Did something happen, ____?” he inquired softly, handing you your mug after adding sugar and cream to it. The cup was Hansol’s favourite, one he definitely didn’t mind handing to you.

“No, i’m just.. Tired,” you replied, clutching the mug close to you. Hansol put his cup down and brushed a hand against your face, feeling the stubble against his knuckles.

“You haven’t shaved,” he stated. He eyed the bags under your eyes, and realized that you looked to be on the verge of tears. His hand came down to brush against one of yours holding the mug, and when he lifted it up to put on your shoulder, the mug slipped from your grasp and shattered at his feet. Hansol jumped back, letting out a yelp as hot water splashing against his pants. The pieces of the mug were big, thankfully, so he managed to avoid them, stepping back against the counter behind him.

“Oh,” you choked out. Your hands were still close to you, as though you never let go of the mug.

Hansol let out a small laugh before stepping around the mess to find a broom. “You should be more careful next time,” he mused as he grabbed one from the broom closet, his back to you. He shook his head as he went on. “Guy like you, with such delicate fingers- “ He stopped when he heard sniffles behind him, and as he turned with the broom, you were turned slightly away from him, covering your face with your hands. The sniffles were muffled, but your boyfriend could still hear them

“Hey,” he whispered setting the broom down and walking over to you. “Hey, hey, it’s okay, it was just an accident.” He wrapped his arms around you, and you fell into him, the both of you going down to the floor(away from the mess, at least) and he held you close in his lap, rocking back and forth. One of his hands held your head, while the other rested on your back, rubbing every now and then.

“It’s not okay,” you got out between quiet sobs. “It was your favourite mug. I broke it. I fucking broke it.” You pushed face into his chest, not wanting to meet his eyes. “I keep fucking up, Hansol. I keep breaking things. I can’t seem to do anything right.”

“No, no, of course it’s okay. It’s just a mug. I can get a new one.” He stroked your back, kissing your forehead. “You don’t fuck things up, ____. You do many things right.” He paused, bringing you away from him to look you in the eyes. “What is this about, ____? Are you okay?”

Your cheeks and eyes were puffy, tears still coming down your face in hard sobs. “I’m sorry,” you choked. “I’m sorry, i’m sorry.” You kept repeating it until Hansol cupped your face in his hand, concern written all over his face.

“You don’t need to keep apologizing, okay? I forgive you. Please tell me what’s going on. Please.”

You tried to hold back your sobs, but this began a coughing fit. You covered your face in hands as you coughed, always trying to rub the tears away as you did so. Hansol let you do this, rubbing circles between your shoulder blades.

When you finally stopped, you looked into his eyes, still shaking. “I- I haven’t ate, showered, shaved, or done anything for a few days. I mean, yes, I have had a snack here and there, but right now, I haven’t ate for all of yesterday, and i’m sorry, i’m sorry, i’m- “ He cut you off with a kiss. A small one, but it was just enough to shut you up.

“It’s okay, muffin, it’s okay. I’ll help you. I’ll take care of you.” You leaned into him again, avoiding his gaze.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hansol was beginning to get really worried about you. He left work early, having gotten a phone call from your work saying you weren’t in and wasn’t answering your phone. That was definitely true, because you haven’t called or texted him back. His fingers tapped on the wheel of the vehicle, driving into the parking lot of your apartment building. Hurriedly, he rushed up into it, calling out your name loudly.

“____!” he shouted. Maybe you had gotten sick but didn’t call in. Maybe you forgot your phone. Maybe something bad happened to you.

He burst into your room, yelling out your name again. He stopped midway, seeing you lay in the bed, staring up at the ceiling. Your gaze was vacant, but thank god, you were still breathing. He didn’t know what he was expecting, but this.. Wasn’t it.

“What happened to you today? You didn’t go to work, you haven’t texted or called me back, did you even eat today? I told you to eat big meals. I bought a bunch of groceries for you. What are you doing still in bed?” Words tumbled out of his mouth which barely reached your ears.

As though woken from a dream, you blinked several times, then turned your head to him. “Oh, hey babe,” you greeted nonchalantly. There wasn’t a smile on your face. “I was going to order pizza, actually, but you locked the door, right? I assumed you did. So the delivery guy probably wouldn’t have been able to get the pizza to me.” You blinked at him several more times, then looked back at the ceiling. “You’re home early.”

Hansol stumbled over words, trying to decide what best to say. “____, what the hell happened? You promised you would eat. Are you sick? Why didn’t you answer me?”

You just stared up at the ceiling, not making any response. Hansol sat down on the bed, taking your hand in his own and rubbing circles onto it.

“Why aren’t you answering me now?” he choked out. Finally, your eyes made contact.

“I can’t get up,” you replied. “I just can’t. My phone is so far away. I tried to get it, but it dropped to the floor.” You intertwined your fingers with his. “The most i’ve done all day was lift my head when you walked in. I tried to get up this morning, but my body isn’t moving for me right now. I’m sorry, Hansol.” You offered a smile, but it failed, the corners of your lips twitching indefinitely.

Hansol sighed, letting go of your hand. “I’ll help you out of bed, then i’m making you a proper meal.” He got up, and lifted your upper body into a sitting position. Your spine was stiff, and so were your limbs. He practically picked you up to get you to stand, but you did. When he started to walk towards the bathroom, your legs barely moved.

“I assume you didn’t go to pee all day?” he asked. When you nodded sheepishly, he sighed. Walking you to the toilet was a struggle, but when you could clearly stand on your own, he exited, making his way to the kitchen.

As he began preparing to chop vegetables, he heard a loud thud on the bedroom floor. Rushing over, he knelt beside you, as you had somehow fallen when you reached the doorway between the bedroom and the bathroom.

“Sorry,” you mumbled through the carpet. “Legs failed me.”

Hansol struggled to help you up again, your body weight heavier than what his arms could carry, and he helped you to sit at the kitchen counter, on the same stool you sat on two days ago.

Your head rolled onto your arms as you watched him cook, not really paying any attention. You weren’t really thinking, but sometimes a thought would surface. It was never good, but you couldn’t tell Hansol that. It would break his heart. Immediately, you assumed you had already broken it. Like that mug.

You felt awful and stupid and guilty and ashamed all at once. You were pathetic to cry like that with him. He shouldn’t have to deal with your problems, cook your meals, pick you up when your body would fail you.

It’s not that your body wouldn’t work, it was rather, your body lacked motivation. Work? Never that fun anyways. Food? You felt better when you were empty. Toilet? No point when you weren’t eating. Hansol? You loved him, but there wasn’t a point when he would be in bed with you at night anyways.

Speaking of Hansol, he set a plate in front of you. Either it didn’t take long, or your thoughts had consumed you again. A waste of time.

Waste.

You didn’t deserve to eat, but you didn’t want to waste the food either. Your stomach churned as you stared at the plate of vegetables and potato and pasta. Big plate.

Hansol watched you eye the plate, then slowly pick yourself up to eat. Your movements were slow, and when you didn’t even try to eat as you just pushed the fork against your lips, he took it from you, opening your mouth as well, and fed you. Thankfully, you chewed, and he patiently fed you the entire plate, patting your head when you were done.

“See?” he said, smiling. “That wasn’t so bad!”

You smiled half-heartedly at him, then asked him to take you to the bathroom. He complied, and sat on the bed as he waited for you, calling your work to explain why you weren’t there, then calling his own work and asking for a half day tomorrow.

You, on the other hand, were busy throwing up the food you just ate. The bile burned your throat, and you spent a good minute shaking on the floor before you crawled over to the sink, lifting yourself up to wash your face. It was messy, and you got your pajama sleeves entirely wet, but there was no sign of puke on your chin anymore, and you exited the bathroom.

Hansol smiled up at you warmly, and you tried to return it, but felt the corners of your lips twitching like earlier. Failing, you threw yourself face first onto the bed beside Hansol, and he rubbed your back, soothing you. You would fall asleep to this, but your legs were off the bed, and you weren’t comfortable.

Do you even deserve comfortable anymore? You asked yourself. You bit down hard on your lip, not really feeling anything, when Hansol rolled you onto your back.

“Hey,” he spoke softly, “are you going to bed already? It wasn’t even dinner yet.” His smile was so sweet, the corners of his lips turned upwards. You wanted nothing more than to sleep with this image in your mind, but sighed heavily, settling for sitting up instead.

“I’m really tired,” you answered monotonically.

Hansol was about to make a remark on how you’ve been in bed all day, but stopped himself, heart sinking as he thought about today. You were in bed all day, yes, but doing what? Nothing. Your body didn’t let you move, and he was worried about what that could mean.

The stubble on your face was darker than on Saturday, and one of the buttons of your pajama shirt had come undone. Your face was blank, eyes looking to be always on the verge of tears, and when you moved it was mechanical and slow, like an automaton rusted with age. The bags under your eyes were huge, as though you haven’t slept in weeks, and as Hansol eyed you, he could distinctly tell that yes, you haven’t eaten. Your skin was a normal colour, but Hansol assumed it would turn sickly if you didn’t get any help.

He leaned forward and kissed your cheek. “I love you, ____,” he whispered, leaning his head on yours.

You didn’t say anything in return, opting to lay back down again, closing your eyes, and letting your thoughts drift into nothing, ignoring whatever Hansol was doing or saying.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hansol walked into your room again the next day, and sighed when he saw you there, same position as this morning. He dropped a bag of take-out on the bed, leaning down to kiss your forehead.

You were slow to respond, and only smiled up at him a few minutes later. “Hey, handsome,” you cooed, your arm barely lifting up in a move to touch his face. It didn’t get any farther than a quarter of the way. He smiled back, but his eyes were clouded with worry.

“I got you take-out,” he whispered.

“I’m not hungry right now,” you replied.

“That’s okay.” He laid there beside you, pushing his face into the crook of your neck. “We can eat later.” His arm crossed over your chest, but you didn’t notice, staring up at the ceiling. Usually his warmth would be a comfort, but instead, you felt nothing.

The doctor, when you asked him about depression a year ago, and what it could do to you, had said that not all depression came with sadness. Some never even felt sad. There was angry depression, he explained. But that’s not what you wanted to know, and you had asked him if you had depression. He brushed it aside as some temporary sadness or loneliness, and that it would go away within the month. It grew worse, up until five months ago. Then, for two months, it stayed away, and you were happy. Then a month came where you felt it come back, barely there. After, for the past two months, you felt nothing except exhaustion. You stopped eating, slowly, as to not alert Hansol of this.

You never talked to him about having depression. You let him deal with you when you were down, but that was it. Now, he was even more exposed to it.

He said something. You turned your head, touching noses with him. “What?” you asked.

He chuckled. “I asked if you wanted to watch one of the movies I rented. We didn’t Saturday, remember?” He stroked your jaw gently, lifting his arm from your chest to do so.

You closed your eyes and breathed him in, but you couldn’t detect a hint of your boyfriend. You couldn’t even feel the air. Turning your head was about all you could do(you couldn’t even turn it back) and so you opened your eyes and stared at him.

Your eyes were full of something deep. Not quite sadness, not quite exhaustion, not quite hunger,, though your stomach said differently on that subject.

He offered a small smile when he realized you wouldn’t respond. “I’ll get you a glass of water,” he said. He left one small kiss on your forehead before rolling off the bed towards the door. You didn’t bother turning your head back.

Hansol re-entered, and helped you to sit up. He placed the glass to your lips, tilting it slightly, rubbing your back with his other hand. You sipped on the water slowly, drinking a quarter of it before moving back a tiny bit. Hansol got the memo, and placed the glass down on the water stand.

You stomach growled, and you felt the water drip down into the nothingness.

“Eat now?” Hansol asked, hopeful.

You shook your head and laid back down on your pillow. Hansol looked hurt by this, and laid down beside you again.

You hefted out a sigh as he began playing with your hair, slightly longer than you liked. Before this, if he had been this close to you, you would have been blushing, trying hard not to stare at him. Now, however, it was like he wasn’t even there. _You_ weren’t even there.

He was holding your hand now, murmuring something about how you need to eat. How he wants you to be healthy. How he loves you.

“I love you too,” you whispered, interrupting whatever he was saying now. He stuttered a bit, clearly confused as to why you said something like now, but you felt him smile and lean closer to your ear.

“If you loved me you would eat,” he whispered. You pretended not to hear him, but you couldn’t help the slight tighten of your hand on his. He must have thought you were saying you would eat, because then he sat up, the warmth that was beside you leaving now, and he opened the bag, taking out the food cartons. You didn’t bother to keep track of what was what, and let him sit you up and feed you happily.

You threw up again when you left his gaze. You spent longer cleaning up than yesterday, to which he knocked on the door. You didn’t bother opening it until you were fully clean, and you smiled at him.

His face was scrunched up in worry and concern, and he led you back to the bed, giving you more water before letting you both lay back down.

“I love you,” he whispered, placing a kiss to your cheek. Again, you didn’t answer, but he let out a light chuckle before his next line. “No homo, though.”

Normally, you would elbow him, but right now, you turned towards him and whispered it back. “No homo.” You pecked his nose before closing your eyes, drifting into sleep.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Two months.

For two months, Hansol took care of you. For two months, you stayed in bed. For two months, you didn’t feel a thing.

Two months.

Hansol was taking a half day today, you knew. Once every week. Today. You turned your head to look at the analog clock by your bed. 11:30. When does Hansol come home?

Two months.

You rolled your head to the other side, reading the calendar on the wall. The month was different. It had been two months, you realize.

Two months.

You remembered that one movie you watched when you first met Hansol. You had picked it out yourself. It was called Love & Mercy, about Brian Wilson. You remembered he had stayed in bed for two years, at least. Your stomach churned as you remembered that. You also remember one of your teachers had stayed in bed like you for four months.

Two months.

You sat up slowly. Your stomach was empty. Almost every meal you had thrown up after. You grabbed the glass of water beside you(Hansol always left a fresh one by your bed just in case, though it was never touched) and drank about half before almost coughing your lungs out.

You blinked at the harsh midday sunlight bursting through the window. Has Hansol ever closed the curtain? Was it always this bright?

Slowly, carefully, you moved one of your legs over the side of the bed. Then the other. You planted your bare feet on the cold carpet, steadying yourself with the bed as you stood. Your legs were shaky, and as you breathed, you shuddered.

One step forward. Two steps. Letting go of the bed, stumbling towards the wall. Grabbing at the wall, trying to stand.

Your legs finally started moving again. You made your way, slowly, to the door. It was wide open, thankfully, and you stepped past, letting go of the wall. It was shaky, at first, but finally, you were standing just before the kitchen, the floor now very warm from where the sun was hitting it.

The lock to the apartment was jiggled, and you turned to face it as the door was pushed open, Hansol rubbing his eyes as he walked in. He was carrying some groceries, which all dropped as soon as he saw you.

“__-____,” he whispered, looking at you like he had seen a ghost.

You smiled shyly at him. “Hey, babe,” you said, and took a step towards him.

He burst forward, wrapping his arms around you and planting kisses wherever he could. Your hands clung to his jacket, and he shuddered. You realized he was crying, and, for some reason, so were you.

“You got up. You’re up. You’re not in bed anymore.” Through the sobs, Hansol sounded like a delirious man.

“Two months,” you whispered. “Two months. Oh my god. Hansol. Two months.”

“I know, I know.”

Neither of you could comprehend it. Hansol moved up, wiping tears from his eyes, and started laughing. God, you missed that laugh. You haven’t heard it for a while. For two whole months.

His laugh was perfect, he was perfect, right now, this moment, was perfect. You started laughing too. You didn’t know what about, but it was contagious. Both of your laughter filled the room, and sobs could be heard, too. You were both crying and laughing at the same time. It was beautiful.

Hansol kissed you again, and again, and again, as though he couldn’t get enough of you. He was giddy. He was shocked. Most of all, he was happy. That’s all you ever wanted.

It was a good ten minutes before he finally stepped back from you. “You ready for lunch? You can eat, right?”

You nodded. “We should put on a movie too, please.”

Hansol beamed at you. It seemed as though that was the most you had said to him in the two months you were on that bed, and he grabbed your hand, pulling you close again.

“I love you,” he whispered.

“No homo,” you whispered back as you smirked, and you got punched in the arm for that remark.


End file.
